


Armistice

by devastatron



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Love/Hate, M/M, One Night Stands, Past Relationship(s), Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Their relationship is complicated, Then back to enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devastatron/pseuds/devastatron
Summary: Days, even weeks, have long passed by since Malik kissed Altaïr. The assassin has returned to Jerusalem for answers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set in the first Assassin's Creed game. I've always just written bad drabbles between these two I hope this flows and makes sense! If not, I hope it's sexy enough to ignore it. Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: Explicit sexual content (confused gay assassin and a very angry, very sexually frustrated Malik).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed.

Altaïr grimaced, “Malik,” he said in a low whisper. His amber stare softened as he stood only mere feet from the rafiq standing behind the wooden barrier. “I-”

“-I do not wish to hear it,” Malik interrupted abruptly, his stern brown eyes refusing to meet Altaïr's own intrusive stare. He could feel those familiar golden eyes piercing through him. His hot blood crawled beneath his dark skin as anger swelled in his chest.  
  
“Leave my bureau. You are only welcome here when you have dire news to share. Since that is not the case- _leave_ ,” he scorned, his strong jaw clenching in a poorly suppressed rage.

The assassin did not heed those words. Instead, he took a few steps closer. His facial features, although partially hidden beneath his celestial white hood, still displayed his discomfort. Altaïr exhaled patiently, “We _must_ talk, Malik, whether you see it fit or not.”

Only then did the rafiq offer Altaïr the generous heat of his glare. The inked feather in his single hand flew from his long, dexterous fingers and his fist met the auburn wood in a fit of fury. His upper lip twitched slightly to give a show of his teeth. Once the varying shades of their eyes met, Malik faltered. His hand retrieved the feather and he resumed his work, allowing his anger to reside. His chest deflated in an exhale so ragged that it caused him a sharp pain.

“Leave my bureau.”

It was all he could muster between his clenched teeth.

Altaïr only found himself practically with his crimson-stained robes pressing against the same ledge Malik occupied. He denied the rafiq, letting both of his arms reach out and slam against either side of the large map Malik decrypted, “I am not going anywhere. I will stay here until dawn if that is how long it takes for you to speak with me.”

The assassin leaned in close enough to draw Malik’s eyes back to his own.

“Tell me what happened that night, Malik. What was it?” Altaïr questioned, his tone low and serious.

The rafiq focused on the peak of Altaïr's hood. He followed the cloths’ end until his gaze found the assassin’s full, scarred lips. Malik then narrowed his brows in fury, “It was _nothing_ , and I suggest that you do leave my bureau now for Masyaf before the sun is set. If you keep your mission report waiting, Al-Mualim may have you demoted to a _novice_ once more. Although that is nothing you do not deserve.”

Altaïr would have found offense to the rafiq’s quips had he not caught his bluff. Seeing as how the sun has already found itself settling behind the horizon, the assassin knew this was an empty suggestion. As the night fell into place, it meant that the assassin was to remain at his assigned bureau.

“My mission will wait,” Altaïr confirmed, leaning in that much closer over the counter. His voice kept low, as if he suspected they could be heard. “Malik, tell me why-”

“-I have _no_ answers for you, Altaïr!” the rafiq raised his voice. Each word he spoke with an anger so potent that his accent became heavy. “You always expect _me_ to possess the answers that _you_ need, but I do not have this one.”

It was Altaïr's turn to show some rage. “What was it, then? Did you do it out of spite? Rage? Lust? _Tell me_ -”

Malik stepped forward until his abdomen stretched over the wooden ledge, creasing the map beneath him. He reached his single arm out to point an accusing finger at the assassin. “If you are _ever_ to believe that I would _lust_ for you then you’ve gone mad-”

“-Then _why_ , Malik? Why would you kiss me?” he asked. His head tilted slightly as his neck muscles tensed. His throat swallowed heavily, almost as if the anticipation of knowing deprived him of breath.

Malik’s deep brown glare shifted back and forth from Altair’s blood-spattered robes to his parted lips. He physically trembled from the malice that built inside of him. The deadly silence that overwhelmed the bureau corned him until his answer would escape his lips.

“I do not know,” he admit. As he spoke, his anger subsided and the last two words fell almost silent on his tongue.

It was as if saying those words aloud restricted Malik to a greater confinement of the mind. His single hand raised to run through his short, black hair and his palm pressed to his heated forehead. He could feel the beads of sweat running down his face as a new silence approached them.

“I despise you,” Malik said after a while.

Altaïr met his gaze, just barely. His own amber eyes were hardly exposed underneath his hood, but Malik knew the assassin was watching him intensely.

“I despise you for the incompetent, disgraceful _novice_ that you are and _always_ have been. You are the very cause for the lifetime of despair and pain I am burdened with,” the rafiq was seething with hatred now, but his deeply accented words somehow did not match the look in his soft, brown eyes.

The depths of those eyes were always indecipherable to Altaïr.

“Yet,” Malik began with reluctance. “As much as I despise you, and as much as I want to see you _suffer_ and know you have lost what is valuable to you as well, as much as I loathe the very _sound_ of your name…” he paused. “I find myself getting lost in the feelings I once had many years ago.”

Altaïr frowned, “That path was a dead end, Malik. You and I both knew the consequences-”  
  
“-And yet still we were unstoppable,” the rafiq almost laughed at the thought.

Almost.

He remembered so long ago, just when the two of them were merely training in their youth.

Partners and rivals. Allies and brothers. Enemies, now. Distanced by hatred, envy, and revenge.

“We were _fools_ for what we believed in.”

“We were children,” Altaïr reminded. Although it was true, hearing Malik say those words sunk deep into his core. “We were brothers-”

Malik slammed his single fist into the wooden counter again, “You are _not_ my brother!”

His dark, hurt stare plagued Altaïr. Still he found that he could not look away. Malik bit down on his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself from trembling.

“You took the _only_ brother I had away from me! You took my _family,_ you took my _arm_ , you took away the statuses and skills I spent _years_ earning and studying, and I _hate_ you for it,” Malik yelled. “I hate you for deceiving me and for _leaving_ me to die alongside Kadar and for making me _fall_ for you!”

Altair said nothing, his arms reached out and grasped Malik’s head. His gloved fingers brushed across his neck as his thumb pressed to his cheek bone. With a swift movement, the assassin closed the space between them and smashed his lips against Malik’s own in a hasty, unpracticed kiss. Although Malik did not seem to mind the rough kiss, for his own mouth pressed back harder and even more passionately.

The rafiq groaned against Altaïr's lips and he lifted his single arm to press against the assassin’s chest. His dark, thin fingers felt the heavy pulse beneath the celestial white robes and he pulled on the fabric. His eyes shut so tightly that his short black lashes fluttered uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Altaïr found himself thrown a few feet back by the same hand that held him close mere seconds ago. He paused to catch his breath, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his ears from the adrenaline of lust and anger. Once his gaze traced back to Malik, he noticed that the rafiq was no longer behind the ledge.

There was no barrier between them now.

Malik approached the assassin with an unmistakable fury in his glare, however there was something more that hid beneath the deep shades of brown that Altaïr faintly recognized.

The assassin stepped forward to meet Malik’s embrace. Their lips met in an open mouthed kiss as their hands groped each other. Gloved fingers dug into Malik’s hips, wrenching his body closer as their kisses deepened and their tongues found one another.

A single warm hand ran up Altaïr's robes until they reached the hood, pulling it back until his entire face was revealed.

Soft, light beige hair glistened with sweat from a long day in blistering summer heat. Malik’s hand ran through the bristles until his palm grasped the back of Altaïr’s neck and he pulled back from the kiss.

Varying shades of brown and amber mixed as they faced each other. Every breath hot and heavy as their chests rose and fell on opposite patterns.

Malik’s hand moved to pull at the assassin’s chest, pushing him back far enough until his back met a wall. And their lips once again met with the intensity of a thousand years of anticipation for one another’s intimate company.

Only moans and the gentle sounds of water from the fountain echoed through out the bureau as the darkness crept in. Candles burned silently as the pair held each other close. With Altaïr's back pressed against the wall, Malik found that he possessed the advantage. His own head lowered to meet the assassin’s neck, and his teeth met the flesh with a passionate kiss.

The rafiq breathed in deep, taking in the scent of the assassin which he regretted to admit that he missed.

The scent of Altaïr seemed so nostalgic that Malik felt as if he was back in Masyaf- still a very young adult with much to learn.

Altaïr's hands drifted up Malik’s clothed body, searching for places to dig his fingers underneath the cloth to remove it. He moved quickly to expose the rafiq’s dark, muscular chest and well-built abdomen. His fingers traced the muscles down until his fingertips dug themselves under his belt line.

With a shaky gasp, Malik broke the chain of kisses he had left on Altaïr's neck. Their eyes met, and Malik noticed one of the assassin’s hands hovered above his left shoulder. Those gloved fingers just barely tapped the shoulder blade, tracing from his clavicle until they reach the end of the severed appendage.

The long, black cloth of his cloak fell to the floor and the hand remained still, as if waiting for permission.

Malik paused, allowing his breaths to catch up to him. His mouth formed a firm grimace as his brows furrowed up. Altaïr stood motionless, his amber stare never faltering. His fingertips itched as they awaited the touch of Malik.

“This does not mean that I will ever forgive you,” Malik stated, his eyes fell to the ground simply to avoid Altaïr's discerning stare.

Cautiously, the assassin’s fingers met with the cloth hanging on the shoulder and slowly pushed it until it fell to the wooden floor. Dark, bare skin presented itself to Altaïr and he relished in its qualities. There were deep scars from rough stitches that had healed some time ago.

His head gradually bowed until his lips met with the dark skin and he disclosed with a breathless sigh, “I know.”

Malik shuddered, allowing his pent-up emotions to escape his lips through hot, shallow breaths. Altaïr wrapped both of his arms around Malik’s narrow waist and guided the two of them down until Malik’s back met the wool rug. There was an assortment of differently shaped and patterned feathered pillows and the sort, however Malik refused to reach for any. Instead, he lay there on the deeply colored rug and simply felt the assassin above him.

His single hand struggled to pull Altaïr's robes off. Somewhere between hasty and diligent, Malik’s fingers gripped and manipulated the heavy fabric until the assassin’s strong torso was revealed. Their mouths met in a forceful, almost unpleasant, kiss.  
  
Layers of clothes were carelessly spread along the length of the wool rug beneath them until both of them lay entirely exposed.

Malik’s heavy breaths steadied as his dark gaze met those of a golden hue. He despised those eyes more than anything, yet somehow he found himself lost in the reflection of them. He tried to recall a time so long ago when those eyes were comforting, when the intensity of them gleamed softly rather than fueled by resentment and selfish aspirations.

Even as that stare haunted him, Malik could never look away.

The many candles that burned as their only source of light in the dusk vividly illuminated their opposing skin tones as they collided.

Altaïr's warm, tan build felt so foreign yet so familiar. The rafiq’s only calloused hand moved against every flexing muscle of the assassin’s large arms and hard abdomen simply to take in the sensation of his skin. The tips of his long dark fingers grazed over every imperfection- every wound, old and fresh, and shuddered as he felt every stitch he’s sewn into Altaïr's long, muscular torso.

Lips met scarred lips desperately in a passionate kiss. A deep groan escaped the back of Malik’s throat as he felt the assassin palm the exposed area between his deeply tanned thighs.

Altaïr could have sworn he’d heard his own name escape from those lips as he continued to grope the rafiq. He knew that based on the way Malik’s teeth gnawed at his bottom lip, how his legs writhed against his waist, and how the muscles of his abdomen trembled with anticipation that he could definitely expect to hear his name.

“ _Malik_ ,” the assassin whispered back.

The sensation of the warm breath that whispered the syllables of his own name brushing against his lips brought Malik to furiously tighten his grasp on the back of Altaïr's neck as if silently begging for more.

“I have wanted you for so long,” the calm voice continued. Admitting it aloud was strange to hear and strange to say, although there was nothing but truth laced in each of those words.

That strong hand still intensely stroked Malik, making it hard to breath. The rafiq clenched his teeth as the voice trailed down to his neck and pressed open mouthed kisses against the hot skin.

“ _Then take me_ ,” Malik spoke into the assassin’s ear, his accent heavy with desire.

And he did. Altaïr's calloused, blood stained hands pulled at the rafiq's thighs to align their pelvises and their bodies grinded together in rough, powerful thrusts. Malik's breath was hot against the assassin's ear and the sound of his accent leaving his tongue in desperate words fueled the passion that drove Altaïr inside of him.

His back, drenched in warm beads of sweat, arched as Altaïr moved heavy on top of him. His only arm extended to press into the center of the assassin's muscular chest and those ink stained fingers curled against the tan skin. 

Malik trailed his dark fingers down Altaïr's torso until he met just below his own flexed abdomen. He grasped himself and began to jerk his own throbbing member to meet the rhythm that Altaïr thrusted into him.

Small gasps fell from his bitten and bruised lips, courtesy of Altaïr, as the friction built.

His jaw tightened with anger- anger focused so greatly toward Altaïr for so long, even in these moments of passion. But it was an anger that was truly reserved for himself in the days and evenings he spent with his thoughts always trailing back to the assassin he loathed- to the assassin he longed for.

He had every reason to resent Altaïr, and resent him Malik did. However, in the latest hours of the night, even as dawn would creep in, Malik's head was always filled with the assassin he despised. He was tormented by his past emotions that only seemed to deepen as time edged forward and his wounds healed. It was _enraging_  how Malik discovered that the only thing that mended his wounds was the one who carelessly made them.

The rafiq's hand grasped so tightly at Altaïr's throat that he could feel the protruding bone in the center writhe uncomfortably beneath his thumb. 

Their eyes locked in the intensity of the moment. Malik found both comfort and malice when his brunette stare mixed within the amber shades that laced in the assassin's peculiar eyes. That moment never seemed to end. They lay there together for hours. Through out the hours long after dusk, they moved positions frequently.

Malik sat on top of Altaïr and held him close as they moved together.

Altaïr flipped the rafiq flat on his chest against the wool rug, pressing down on both legs with his own as his scarred lips pressed kisses to the warm, dark skin of his tensed back and his four-fingered hand became tangled in the short locks of sweaty brunette hair beneath him.

Both had savored every sensation that flowed between them. They dedicated to memory the deep scent of one another, the feeling of slick skin, the way their lips tenderly and angrily folded against each other's and the way it brought them back to their years in Masyaf together. They welcomed the sensations that caused their groans to echo and their thighs to seize. They relished in the distant pleasure of finishing with each other and holding each others sweat-ridden bodies that much closer until spent weariness dragged them into a content slumber. 

Candles became melted down into piles of wax as the bright flames finally deserted their wicks and the bureau gradually succumbed to the darkness of night. 

It was not until the break of dawn's sunlight that entered the holes of the bureau's roof that Malik finally woke, painfully stiff from the resting position he found himself in. 

 _Alone_.

Without even a whisper of his departure- only the silent gathering of scattered robes and weapons, and a longing stare filled with guilt, did the assassin offer Malik.

The rafiq slowly adjusted himself, using his only appendage and his exhausted legs, to rest his bare back against the ivory concrete wall. He stared into the rays of light that came through from above, watching specs of dust floating as he gathered his thoughts.

He reflected on the night- expecting to feel anger and shame. Yet all Malik seemed to feel in that moment, as his gaze averted to his own robes and as his trembling breath caught in his throat and released in a calm sigh, was relief that Altaïr finally left his bureau.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have an unhealthy obsession with these two. I want them to be happy, but it's so much more fun to make them miserable! I hope you enjoyed and please feel free to review. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
